


If at last we be true

by pengukat



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Endgame: Villaneve, Episode 8, F/F, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Spanking, Villaneve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 16:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15247482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengukat/pseuds/pengukat
Summary: My contribution to the "Eve doesn't stab Villanelle, they bone instead" repertory of works.





	If at last we be true

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this collection of images. https://twitter.com/fangirl_uranus/status/1012512413126615041. Thanks, @fangirl_uranus, for your epic contribution to moving Killing Eve images.
> 
> I promised myself I'd only stick to all my works-in-progress or desired continuations and start nothing new. Instead, this. Yay me, so disciplined.
> 
> Warning: Features, to my surprise, my first actual attempt at a proper consensual sex scene for this fandom, and it still manages to get weird. If you've read my other stuff, you have some idea of what I consider funny. If you prefer your sex to be straightforward and no weird detours into attempted humour, may I direct you to all the other excellent Killing Eve fics in the Killing Eve tag.

She feels Villanelle towering above her.

Villanelle reaches down. She must be going for the gun, inches from Eve's hand. 

Instead, Eve feels the warm weight of a hand rest upon on her stomach. It's firm and heavy, claws sheathed, the insistent paw of a panther whose intentions are yet unclear.

She makes a noise with the back of her throat, both in question and in surprise. 

"Just smoothing out your blouse for you." Villanelle's voice is playful, but with a hint of steel undertone. 

Eve keeps her eyes closed. "That something you do a lot for people without asking them?"

The hand traces lower, in slow lazy circles. "It was screaming out for attention. All those wrinkles."  

"Sounds more like you have OCD to me."

"Everything has an aesthetic, and it must be respected." Villanelle fists the cloth, and pulls it taut towards her. "There. Like that."

Eve feels the fabric flush against her torso, the top of her blouse digging into her shoulders, the movement dislodging her loose-fitting bra underneath.

"You're going to ruin it," Eve warns, mildly.

"Are you particularly fond of this ugly, ugly turtleneck blouse?"

"No," Eve admitted. 

"Can I ruin it?"

"No!"

"I'll lend you one of my shirts." 

Eve's eyes fly open. "I think it's probably time for me to ask you to make explicit exactly what you're trying to do here."

"Have I not been clear?" Villanelle is hovering above her, a lazy smile hanging from the corner of her mouth. "I mean, I told you I masturbate about you. Not sure I can get anymore explicit than that." 

Eve can sense the cold steel weight of the gun, inches from her right hand. She keeps her eyes trained on Villanelle's above her, as Villanelle moves her hand even lower. Then it stops, resting just on top of her pants zipper. 

Eve holds her breath when Villanelle doesn't move for a long time. "That's as far as you're going?"

Villanelle's smile remains, but the look in her eyes grows serious. "I need you to tell me you want it." 

Eve swallows.

"Well?"

The knife is digging into Eve's back. 

"Is that a no?"

"Wait, wait," Eve says hastily. "Give me a minute."

Villanelle's smile widens. "So not a no." 

"I need -" Eve wets her lips. "I need to think about this."

"Oh, Eve," Villanelle whispers, crawling onto the bed, straddling her lap, one knee on other side of her. She picks up the gun and moves it to the right of Eve's head. Then she leans forward, putting her weight on her hands just above Eve's shoulders, one hand right next to the gun. Her face is directly above Eve's. "What is that busy, beautiful brain of yours up to now?"

"What do you think I'm up to?"

Villanelle's smile grows feral. "Not much, is what I thought at first, but I'm willing to re-evaluate."

Eve swallows, again. Her tongue is thick in her mouth. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Are you going to kill _me_?"

Eve stares into her eyes. "You think I could?"

Villanelle stares back. "I think you could do anything to me."

The words send a delicious shiver down Eve's spine, straight to her core. 

"Even from down here. With you up there." The question comes out phrased as a statement.

"Show me what you are capable of, Eve Polastri. I want to see." 

The knife in her back is so insistent, Eve is certain there will be a permanent groove mark there.

She can try now - and she's so fucking tempted to, just to see the look on Villanelle's face - but Villanelle will disarm her with ease. Villanelle will grab her wrist and twist the knife out of her hand, or maybe she'll pin Eve's arm down before she can even get the knife out. Either way, she's never going to regain the upper hand; it will be unequivocal surrender to a woman who has enough strength to kill Eve with her pinky finger. 

She can be patient. Cajole the woman into a sense of security. Wait for her chance.

She can answer the call of her body, and let happen what she knows will happen - what she wants to happen. 

She summons the face of Bill, her friend Bill, her dead friend Bill. _Sorry, mate,_ she says silently. _I haven't forgotten you. You'll just have to wait a while._ For how long, Eve wasn't sure.

Niko's face swims before her now. Niko, who hasn't been returning her calls. Niko, who just wants them both to be safe forever. _Sorry, Niko, my for better-or-worse, my for-rich-or-poor, my in-sickness-and-health, my til-death-do-us-part. Sorry, and goodbye._

For some reason Carolyn appears before her, disapprovingly. _Fuck off, Carolyn, I'm having a moment here._

Elena pokes her head out, with a _High-five!_ Eve knows the real Elena would probably throw her off a cliff if she knew what Eve was about to do. What Eve has already done. But she needs someone in her corner, even if it's in her head. 

Eve blinks, and it's just her now. Her, here with Villanelle. Her choice to make. 

Eve raises her right hand, and places it over Villanelle's heart. The thrumming of her chest is slow, steady, strong - unlike Eve's, racing a mile a minute, like a tiny animal. 

Villanelle makes a pleased noise. "Going straight for my tits, huh? Nasty woman."

Eve rolls her eyes. "I'm trying to touch your heart." 

Villanelle cackles. "Is that what they call it where you're from?"

"I'm just checking to see if you have one."

Villanelle grins. "When's the last time you hit on someone?"

"This is not me hitting on you," Eve insists. "The 90's," she adds, grumbling.

"That explains a lot." But Villanelle's smile isn't disparaging. If anything, she almost looks ... charmed. "So? What's your other hand doing on my other boob then? Checking to see if my heart is in the wrong cavity?"

"I'm trying to do - this." Eve shoves, shifting her weight, and Villanelle tumbles to the empty side of the bed beside her. On her side now, Villanelle blinks up at her, letting her head drop to the bed, her long legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

"Thank you for cooperating," Eve grumbles. She pushes Villanelle to her back and takes her turn to straddle the other woman, mirroring the position Villanelle held above her earlier.

She hesitates.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Villanelle inquires. 

"No fucking clue," Eve admits. "I've never done anything like this before." 

"What? Have sex with a woman? Or try to kill someone?"

"I - what?" Eve tries feebly.

"I promise not to kill you," Villanelle says solemnly. "If you promise not to kill me. I'll even let you hold onto it if it makes you feel better."

Eve probes, carefully. "Hold onto - what?"

"You need the feeling and illusion of insurance it provides. I get it. It's me you're dealing with, after all." Villanelle squeezes Eve's hips in a reassuring gesture, almost benevolently. "It would be stupid of you not to have it on you."

A churning mass of molten lava starts seething in Eve's gut. "You think there's no way I can use it on you." So Villanelle saw - or knew all long - it doesn't matter how. There is no point in denying it if she does.

"I hope you don't use it on me," Villanelle clarifies. "We've talked about this before. It won't go well for you."

Eve is suddenly hyper aware of the gun, now barely just an arm's reach away to the right side of Villanelle's head. She knows Villanelle is, too.

The tension in the air is so thick, Eve is suffocating in it. One wrong move, and everything will fall apart. 

"Don't," Eve begs. "Don't."

"I won't if you don't."

"But you're thinking about it."

"So are you."

"You don't trust me."

"The same goes for you."

"Can you blame me?" Eve exclaims.

"Can you blame me either?" Villanelle returns.

"You're the assassin here," Eve points out. "The brilliant, all-powerful Villanelle, who executes murders all across Europe and disappears without a trace." 

"And yet you found me. Trashed my apartment. Took my knife. Pinned me down."

"Only ... only because you let me," Eve whispers, the reluctant admission rushing out against her will.

The stalemate, hanging precariously in the balance, now wobbles under the admission of her utter powerlessness in the face of Villanelle. It feels like a fatal misstep. It feels like surrender. 

Staring into Eve's eyes, with fingers outstretched, Villanelle reaches for the gun.

Don't, Eve begs again, silently, not bothering to voice aloud an objection she knows will be futile. 

Without breaking eye contact, Villanelle painstakingly moves the gun in a wide arc over her head, keeping it flush against the bedspread, stopping when it is directly above her head, as far away from Eve as she can position it.

Eve stops breathing. 

Villanelle's other hand inches slowly upwards, towards the first. Eve hears the deft sound of proficient movement, a soft click, and then a metallic sliding sound.

One hand tosses something to one side of the room. It clatters across the floor. Eve doesn't have to look to know that it's the gun's magazine clip.  

The other hand tosses the now-unloaded gun to the other side of the room. 

Villanelle rests her hands limply on the bed beside her. "Okay?" Her voice cracks on the second syllable. 

In response, Eve slowly places her hands on Villanelle's chest. Villanelle's heartbeat hammers fast, rapid and shallow. 

"Wow," Eve breathes.

"Yeah," Villanelle whispers. Her throat moves as she swallows. "So don't -"

"Your tits feel so nice." 

Villanelle's abrupt giggle startles them both. She looks surprised at her own outburst, and then recovers. "Just nice, huh?"

"Um, very, ah, substantial. Majestic? Um, also, miraculous, or something. Let's go with miraculous."

"Such a poet." Villanelle is aiming for thoroughly unimpressed, though it comes out half-amused. "So. May I touch your heart, too?" 

"Uhhh ... go for it!" Eve squeaks. Fair's fair, after all. 

Villanelle's long, long fingers start tracing from the neck of her apparently ugly turtleneck blouse, lingering on Eve's collarbone, before her palm brushes lower and cups Eve's left breast. Her hand is surprisingly large, and the touch is insistent and demanding, just as Villanelle is. 

Eve thinks she's going to pass out as Villanelle moves her hand around. 

Villanelle gazes at her tenderly. "Tomorrow, I'm taking you shopping, and I'm going to help you pick out a right-sized bra."

Most of that sentence is making absolutely no sense, only partly because most of Eve's brain is trying decipher where Villanelle's contact with her skin begins and ends. She finally manages, "There's a tomorrow?"

"Depends." Villanelle's tone is light. "I'm planning on it."

Eve sighs. She reaches up with one hand to cup Villanelle's cheek, barely stroking the corner of her mouth. "What are we doing?"

Villanelle leans into Eve's palm, closing her eyes. "Leaving myself wide open to you. What are you doing?"

"Betraying everything I believe in." 

"Wow, so dramatic."

"From the person who can probably kill me six different ways without blinking and still acting like she's the one at a disadvantage." 

"Huge disadvantage. I'm not the one on top, with a knife." 

Villanelle simply must be taking the piss. And yet -

"Are you actually afraid of me? Or are you just being a dick?"

Villanelle shrugs. "I cannot tell what you are going to do next. Maybe, by your standards, that's afraid. Or I'm just being a dick. You? Are you afraid of me?"

"Am I afraid of - I can't believe you're bothering to ask. I'm about to fucking wet myself." 

"Mm." Villanelle wriggles her hips and looks way too pleased.

Eve isn't sure if the shit-eating grin on Villanelle's face is in response to Eve's fear of her, or the prospect of being urinated on, which, seriously -

"Ah, okay, also too much. Got it."

"No, I mean, I just wasn't -"

"Expecting it, I know."

"I'm still just getting used to - this." Eve valiantly resists squeezing Villanelle's breast, still in her hand, and with her other hand strokes Villanelle's jaw instead.

Villanelle's hands have slid down her sides to grasp at Eve's hips. Her long thumbs are playing with the bottom of her blouse, hinting their intention insistently. "Is this too much as well?"

"I - I, ah - no, I don't know, I think, I think I'm -"

"I want to try something. Can I sit up?"

Eve swallows. She doesn't know. She's not sure. But Villanelle is asking. And she's asking so nicely. 

Eve can't speak, so she nods instead.

Villanelle sits up with ease, simply lifting Eve's body up with her like Eve is a towel draped over her body. Villanelle is rippling steel, wrapped in velvet. Before her, Eve is merely human. It's a sobering thought. 

"Um. What did you want to try?" Eve is half-straddling, half-sitting in Villanelle's lap, holding onto her shoulders, looking down at Villanelle's face.

"Kiss me. If you can. Whenever you're ready."

Eve's an adult. Heck, she's old enough to be - okay, her brain protests, not going there right now - but anyway, it looks like Villanelle has decided that the easiest way to get Eve to do something is to insinuate that she can't, and to Eve's chagrin it's working. 

She moves in for the kiss.

Soft. Full. Warm. Pliant.

Jaw, smooth, silky, under her thumbs. Neck, loose strands of hairs, pulse - throbbing, alive. 

Eve comes up for air. Villanelle's pupils are large, dark, cat-like. 

"What do you want to do next, Eve?"

Eve loosens the bun atop Villanelle's head, watching the honey-coloured locks cascade over her shoulders. She musses the hair up on a whim, then wraps her fingers in it, luxuriating in its feel, and then kisses her again. 

Villanelle hums with pleasure. "I could do this all day," she murmurs against Eve's lips.

So could Eve, to be honest, but there's so much more she wants to do. 

Still pressing her mouth to Villanelle's, she tugs at Villanelle's shirt and pulls it up, breaking contact just long enough to pull the article of clothing over her head. Then she stares. "Okay, I never want to hear your comments about my undergarments ever again." 

"Russian prison, standard issue. I hate that place so much."

"Let's see if we can keep you doing things that keep you out of jail, shall we?" Eve mutters, jerkily removing - whatever the heck Villanelle has been wearing underneath. Then she just looks. And looks. 

Villanelle leans back on her hands, to give Eve a better view of her bare torso.

"What do you want to do next, Eve?" 

It's hypnotic.

It's a pearl and ivory expanse of flesh, smooth and flawless. Eve imagines a knife burying itself into it. It would be a crime against humanity. 

She wants to touch. Feel them again, without the barrier of cloth. She wants to bury her face in them. 

She'll be lost there for days. 

Her hands reach down instead, scrabbling at the fastenings of Villanelle's pants. 

Villanelle is smirking, but obligingly raises her hips for Eve to tug her pants off. "Didn't expect that."

Maybe Villanelle meant it when she said she couldn't tell what Eve was going to do next. Or it's all just words. But Eve is too preoccupied to care. 

Villanelle's boots are an obstacle, so Eve painstakingly undoes the laces, one shoe at a time, wrenching them off her feet, before dragging her pants off her legs, along with every remaining article of clothing on Villanelle's lower body. Villanelle, for her part, is content to just lean back on her elbows and watch.

Eve is panting too hard to admire a fully-disrobed Villanelle when she's done, muttering, "Thanks for all your help. You were very floppy." 

"You look very warm there." Villanelle nods at Eve's body in response. "Need a hand?"

Eve removes her cardigan, and then hesitates. She imagines that the feeling of her bare skin, pressed flush against Villanelle's, would feel a lot like heaven. Villanelle, undressing her, those long fingers ghosting all over her body, would probably feel a lot like heaven too. 

She's going to have nowhere to keep the knife if she takes her clothes off. 

Eve sinks to the ground, kneeling in front of Villanelle's legs which are sprawled over the side of the bed. She grasps a bare knee with each hand, and infinitesimally pries them apart.

Villanelle acquiesces, widens her legs the rest of the way, and shows her everything. 

For the second time in a short while, Eve just stares. 

Villanelle keeps herself groomed and trimmed down there. Of course she does. In comparison, Eve's is a wild mess of tangled, unkept curls. She wonders if Villanelle would mind.

"First time seeing one in the flesh?" 

Eve nods. There are folds, pink, red, glistening, like - a clam? A wrongly-coloured abalone? Thinking about seafood makes her mouth water. It also seems very inappropriate right now. She's only ever seen them before in the abstract, in textbooks, medical diagrams, occasional flashes of porn that she would put on just for fun once in a while with -

"What do you want to do next, Eve?" 

Eve is surprised at how low and confident her voice is, when it comes out. "I want to touch you. I want to kiss - I want to go inside."

"Please," Villanelle breathes.

Eve inches her grip slowly along the top of Villanelle's thighs. Smooth, rippling limbs of ivory. They've probably strangled many a man to their death. 

Her fingers pause to stroke at the junction where hairless thigh meets hair-covered mound. 

"Waiting for something?"

"You're perfect." The words tumble from Eve's mouth. "Not that I want to tell you, because you're just going to get even more full of yourself, but you're flawless. I have never met anyone like you and I never will again. I want to own you. I want to cut your skin off and wear it over my own."

"You're going to make me blush." Villanelle preens a little, then notices the look on Eve's face. "Just do what feels right. I love the feeling a woman discovering pussy for the first time."

"Um, but what if -"

"I'll let you know. It's okay." Villanelle smiles. It's encouraging. She scoots back a little, centring herself more on the bed, and widens her legs in invitation. 

Eve just wants to know how Villanelle tastes.

Her tongue, pointed at first, probes at the moistness, then she flattens it, lapping at the skin, like she can't get enough of the contact between tongue and flesh. She draws her mouth up and down, sneaking into every nook and cranny she can find. Villanelle tastes like iron, like metal, like sweat, like musk. She knows that this will be the start of a lifelong addiction. 

It takes a while for Eve to notice that Villanelle has remained very quiet. She is still propped up on her elbows, and is watching Eve intently. 

Eve unwillingly lifts her mouth from Villanelle to break the awkward silence. "Um. Am I doing okay?"

"Oh, yes, yes. I am greatly enjoying myself. Please continue."

"Um. Okay." Eve lowers her head, briefly, and then continues, "You're just being very quiet."

"Oh. Would you prefer I -" Villanelle throws her head back and moans, screeches, and yelps like she's the lead actress in a porn movie trying to project her voice across the city. 

"No, you don't have to - I mean, not to that extent." Eve can't tell if she is extremely turned on, or a little insecure that Villanelle can fake it that convincingly. "It would just help to have some feedback."

"Oh, I'll tell you if you need to change anything up. Don't worry. I promise," Villanelle insists with an encouraging smile.

Eve is worrying in the extreme as she resumes her previous actions. She only manages to continue for a few beats more when she lifts her head again and says, "You don't think that it's really, really weird that it's so quiet in here?"

Villanelle does her extremely exaggerated moaning thing again. They can probably hear her all the way at l'Arc de Triomphe. 

"No!" Eve says hastily. "That's okay. You don't have to do that."

"Too much?"

"Just a little." Eve rolls her eyes before returning to her mouth to Villanelle's lower lips.

"Okay, then." Villanelle allows Eve to continue for a few moments, before asking, "So do you like movie songs?"

"I - I am so confused right now." 

"You said it's quiet, so I thought I'd make some conversation. I love it when people sing in movies." 

"I - I - Villanelle, it's really okay, I don't mind anymore."

"How about Disney songs? Do you like -"

"I love Disney songs," Eve interrupts, "but I would love it more if I can get back to eating you out."

"Of course. Of course! Me too," Villanelle says cheerily. 

Sighing, Eve buries her nose against Villanelle's clit and her tongue in her hole. It takes about three seconds for her to realise what she is suddenly hearing, in a gentle, warbling, slightly off-pitch key. 

"Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly."

Villanelle is -

"Just a little change, small to say the least. Both a little scared, neither one prepared -"

"If you don't like what I'm doing, just say so," Eve grumbles, smacking the other woman in the leg.

"I love what you're doing!" Villanelle insists.

"Then WHY ARE YOU SINGING AT ME? This cannot possibly be a normal sex thing you do."

Villanelle shakes her head. "To be honest, most people prefer the moaning. They get pretty weirded out when I sing. Sometimes people are okay with it, though. They might even sing along! Then it gets really fun."

Eve searches Villanelle's face for signs of bullshit. To her utmost horror, she can't find any. Either Eve's getting worse at reading the woman, or - holy shit - Villanelle means every word. 

"You like ... to sing ... when you orgasm," Eve says carefully. 

"Gosh, no, that would be ridiculous. Not to mention distracting. Well, I suppose it depends on the song," Villanelle muses.

"Your brain is seriously a strange place to be."

"Yours is, too, you know."

Fair point. They stare at each other silently. 

"I've ruined the mood now," Villanelle sighs. 

"No, no," Eve says quickly. "I was just - worried you weren't enjoying it."

"You were having a conversation with my pussy. I was paying attention." Villanelle sounds sincere. "I was enjoying it a lot."

That is ... a very interesting way of putting it. Eve can't remember a single time she had a conversation via blowjob. 

"But that's not all, right?" Villanelle adds. "You were annoyed. Because I - made it weird."

"What, no! No, not at all, I just -"

Villanelle gives her a look. 

"Okay, fine, maybe just a little annoyed, then," Eve admits. 

Villanelle shrugs. "It happens. When I am just - myself, without trying to - blend in. People are more relaxed when I pretend. Once in a while I just like to not have to wear another skin, you know?"

"I get it," Eve says quietly. Maybe not truly, not in the exact way Villanelle means, but suddenly this strange, murderous, alien being before her is vaguely relatable. She crawls up onto the bed and lies down sideways next to Villanelle, propping her head up with her arm. She strokes Villanelle's hair away from her face. “Sorry I made you feel that way.” It feels inappropriate, apologising to a murderer, but in this moment Eve means it.

“You want to know me as I am, don’t you? Not who I pretend to be?” There’s an oddly needy undercurrent in Villanelle’s voice.

"Yeah, I do." Eve nods, before adding quickly, "Please don't start singing again, though." 

"You're no fun," Villanelle says, though she's smiling. "So what do you want to next, Eve?"

Eve thumbs Villanelle's lower lip. "What would you like me to do?"

Villanelle's eyes grow mischievous. "Maybe I should be punished for annoying you."

Wow. Okay. Eve swallows nervously. This isn't her at all. "How would you like to be punished?"

"How would you like to punish me?"

Bloody hell. Eve racks her brains. "Um. I could spank you?" 

"Is that a question?"

"I should spank you," Eve clarifies. 

"Very good," Villanelle breathes. "Where do you want me to move?"

This isn't Eve - but maybe she can pretend. Wear another skin, just for a while. 

Eve looks down the length of Villanelle's body, from jawline, to neck, down her rib cage, past her stomach, and further below, then traces the same path downward with her fingers. She grips the thigh closer to her and pulls Villanelle's legs apart. "Open wide."

Villanelle's legs fall open obediently.

Eve circles the fleshy lips to either side of the leaking moistness, just feeling, probing, watching Villanelle's face for any change.

Villanelle isn't smiling anymore - she's just staring at Eve with an intent, inquiring look on her face. It seems familiar. It's the way Villanelle was watching her before.

Eve wonders if she can wipe that look of her face.

Her hand raises and comes down, hard, without warning. The resulting clap is muffled, muted. 

Villanelle blinks. 

Eve tries again, cupping her hand differently. This time, the resounding smack is crisp and satisfying.

Villanelle just blinks, again.

Another smack. Blink. Smack. Blink.

Smack.

Villanelle's lips break apart, slightly.

Eve's mouth opens wide, in response. 

Smack. Blink. Smack. Blink.

The claps grow wet and squishy.

Smack. Blink. Smack. Blink.

Villanelle's tongue darts out, swipes at her lower lip, before disappearing again. 

Eve is the one who can't keep her face calm. She feels the muscles in her cheeks tensing, her brow scowling, her nostrils flaring with every strike that lands. Meanwhile, Villanelle just stares at her, her face moving imperceptibly, unreadably, but Eve can't call it emotionless, not at all. There's so much there, lurking just beneath her eyes, and Eve wants to know what's there, wants to know what she's thinking, what she's feeling, Eve wants to know it all, all of it, _she just really wants to know_ , and Eve will find out, oh, yes, she will, she'll find out if it's the last thing she does, she'll beat it out of Villanelle if she has to - 

Villanelle blinks, one more time, and then her eyes remain open, unblinking, as her whole body goes stiff.

It's as if Villanelle went and died on her, for a long, breathless moment. Eve can't breathe either, just watching those bright, glistening eyes, getting hypnotised in them. 

Eve finally breaks the deafening silence. "Are you dead? Did I kill you?" 

Villanelle lets a tiny grin. "I prefer being killed this way than the alternative."

Eve leans in and smothers her mouth with kisses. She breaks it off to reach behind her and toss the knife away, before leaning down to resume. 

Villanelle instantly flips Eve on her back and starts tearing Eve's clothes off.

Eve can barely keep up. "Fucking hell, if I'd known how much that knife was keeping you under control, I wouldn't have -"

"Shh," Villanelle commands. "My turn." 

Eve shivers, and nearly surrenders on the spot.

"Like hell it is," she hears herself saying instead. "I'm gunna make you work for it." 

Villanelle quirks an eyebrow. "You want to fight me on this?"

"I - yeah. Maybe." Eve's chest is thudding all the way across her body, behind her eyeballs. 

"You want to struggle?"

"Y-yeah."

"You want to run and hide?"

Okay, that seems like too much work, and there's broken champagne glass on the floor everywhere. Eve shakes her head. 

"Do you want it to hurt?" 

"N-not too much. Just a little."

"Do you want to be pinned down? Tied up?"

Oh, fucking god. Eve keens in the back of her throat, and nods. 

"I think I get it." Villanelle moves to trap Eve beneath her, and Eve writhes in her arms.

"If it's too much," Villanelle whispers in her ear, "you can tell me to stop."

Eve scrambles frantically through her internal vocabulary list for the phrase that seems applicable to this situation. "You mean, like a safe word?"

Villanelle nods against her neck. Eve wants to sweep all her hair out of the way so Villanelle's lips can press there without obstruction. 

"Knife?" Eve suggests.

"Too on the nose," Villanelle murmurs. "Besides, I don't know if we might need that word in another context."

Eve shivers, again. 

"I know. Adam."

Eve guffaws. "Fine. Adam if it's too much for me."

"Good. Ready?"

"Yeah," Eve breathes. "Ready."

Then it's on.

There is a tangled mass of squirming, flailing limbs, an occasional accidental kick to an unsuspecting jaw or gut (with an "oops, sorry"), and a lot of amateur wrestling that takes place.

Eve gets tied up with her own clothes, and comes, multiple times, harder and longer than she ever thought possible. There are a lot of firsts for her. 

It ends with her lying on her side, Villanelle cradling her from behind, sobbing and laughing into their joined arms in relief, exhaustion, and wonder.

"I'm so sorry I peed all over your bed," Eve cries, sniffling.

"Eve, it's not pee, you just squirted," Villanelle explains gently for maybe the tenth time. 

"I squirted three times?!" Eve exclaims in horror, then in triumph, "I squirted three times!" Then it's back to horror again. "I squirted three times?!"

Villanelle sighs patiently, rubbing her hip. "You stuck through it really well."

"How can you be so mean and yet so kind?! I don't understand. I don't understand anything anymore! Why are you laughing at me?"

Villanelle has buried her face into the back of Eve's neck, shaking softly with amusement. "I'm so happy right now."

"Is it because -" Eve shouts like she's come to a very important discovery. "It's because I peed all over your bed! All over your face! You wanted this from the beginning!"

"Eve, it's not pee, you just -" Villanelle laughs even harder, biting on her neck lightly. "Can you stay for a while?"

Eve huffs, trying to sober herself a little. "Not like I can go anywhere right now, like this. I can't move. I'm a mess."

"Take a nap," Villanelle suggests. "Clean up in the morning."

Eve is already occupying the only remaining dry sliver of the mattress, and she isn't inclined to move, so she doesn't object. "What are you going to do?"

"Stay here. Keep you trapped in my arms. Never let you go."

"One, that's creepy and possessive, and two, never is a long time. What happens after?"

Villanelle nuzzles her neck. "Are you worried?"

"Not as much as I should be. I probably will be, in the morning."

"Then we'll worry about it then."

Eve chews her lip. She's not fond of that logic. And Villanelle has promised her nothing. But she feels too pleasant where she is right now, so she lets herself ignore reality for a little while longer.

"Three. You're lying in a giant wet patch."

"I've slept in worse."

"God, I don't even want to know." Eve hears what she just said, and rephrases. "You'll have to tell me about it sometime."

Villanelle squeezes Eve's hands. "I promise."  
 

**Author's Note:**

> Please hold Professional Boundaries' author, yotoob, responsible for the singing.


End file.
